Sonic the Schizophrenic
by Draenog Glas Memorial
Summary: SCRAPPED. Supposedly a retelling of the Sonic Adventure storyline, except in the eyes of Sonic who was earlier diagnosed with schizophrenia. He then copes with telling if some of the events are fantasy or reality. Included is also an earlier draft.
1. Chapter 1

**Notes: A fic I thought wouldn't get a lot of attention, as earlier I wrote Misery Road and I had complaints that the story was too "depressing" and I should "cheer it up" when apparently people don't know about the kind of stuff I like to write about. I also had someone tell me to never write again, that although I shouldn't pay attention to such reviews, it did hurt me a little and I struggled with writing this fic. It soon just became an incomplete project as I think around this time I started to work a little on Shifting Realities or Between Church, which are fics I never got around to finishing but I'm still proud of the writing in them that I don't want to delete them off my main account even if I don't work on them.**

**This was a fic that was supposed to be a retelling of the Sonic Adventure storyline, except that Sonic was schizophrenic and struggled with deciphering fantasy from reality. However, the subject matter now is a bit too depressing for even me to work on (and maybe for other fans too) so I may not work on this again.**

**Review if you wish to do so, but once again, I will probably not work on it.**

**Also included is a scrapped chapter I tried to write of the same subject matter, but is not as well written as this one. I probably struggled with it when I got those reviews.**

"_What is life? A madness. What is life? An illusion, a shadow, a story. And the greatest good is little enough; for all life is a dream, and dreams themselves are only dreams.__"_

_-Pedro Calderon de la Barca_

A scream.

A blood-curling, soul-shaking, gut-wrenching scream that could only scream to him that he had to get out of here.

This man, in this white suit. He held all the secrets, didn't he? Of the evils of the government, of the lies of the health department that they don't want to tell you. He held the very key to his existence, whether he got to stay in this Hell today.

Look at all these men, he could only think. Look at all these men whose feet are melted away and they could only use wheelchairs, gutting and coughing their groans to everyone in this building, looking like withered suffering bodies of people who used to be so vibrant, so alive. It is where the damned lived and suffered, he surmised. He thought of Hell of nothing but a large building such as this, where Satan was the head nurse and everyone else here…they were nothing but his patients, naked, playing their little card games and reacting to the medicine that made them see visions of the world they used to live in. And they begin to regret and want to return to the purgatory, back to their normal lives, but they were locked in, and no matter what, they couldn't escape.

Basically, he thought Hell was nothing but a large psychiatric ward. With the screams and the blood they took from you and losing all your individuality.

They glowered at him, their eyes glinting in the light, tongue flickering like fire, as they spoke to him.

_Kill this man._

_Kill him._

_He will lock you up here._

_In your own personal Hell._

_We all suffered here (suffered here!)._

_For far too long_ (far too long! the other head echoed)  
><em>Kill him.<em>

He heard the bird's clear crisp songs and their shadows embroidered on the curtains. How he missed daylight already. How the light beckoned him to get out of here.

But here he was with the Gatekeeper, with his clipboard that he knew was they key to whether he was sent to Hell or he got to stay in the outside world. And how he already missed running just staring at this man. He was writing so many things when he only gave a simple answer of "yes" or "no". And he was completely still, sullen. But maybe the man considered this an offense too. To be as stoic as a statue in an art gallery. Maybe it was a crime here in Hell. But he didn't want to move, else he would fall to pieces, and he would be locked away.

And he could still hear the two-faced snake as it crawled around his legs, continuing to speak to him.

_Kill him, kill him, kill him!_

"Sonic, is something the matter? Your attention seems to be somewhere else, not to me."

And he said nothing. He just continued to look at this snake that he thought embodied the fires of Hell itself, as it now said that if he didn't kill the Gatekeeper he would swallow him whole and he would suffer a fate worse than the Gatekeeper should.

"No," he whispered, his eyes looking catatonic.

"Excuse me?"

He looked at himself in the mirror briefly before he looked back at the Gatekeeper. His quills were now dull, no longer glossy with a cobalt luster. His face and eyes…there was no longer any vitality, life, or happiness. Only tales of neglect and misery.


	2. Earlier rough draft

"I hate to break it to you," you said, as you sat down on one of those round, circular leather chairs. "But…you're sick."

Sick with what?

I'm physically healthy, I don't believe that.

I'm fit. I can run faster than you can ever imagine that your legs can take you. I can jump higher than your legs can lift. I can hear better, I can smell better. What you're saying isn't true. A flat-out lie that you probably made up so you can prescribe me medication.

"Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about…"

I don't think me being unsure of everyone is an illness. As far as I'm concerned, you're the illness. You're infecting me with your lies, your half-truths, and the mask you're putting on is so plastic that it's making me sick.

Stop.

_Stop it right now._

_You're making me sick._

I swiftly grabbed his board. I didn't want more of his germs. His putrid propaganda that he was telling me that I was ill and I needed to be prescribed with something that I knew was going to be a ticking time bomb. That's what all the medicines are. They're bombs that tick away your entire life, and if you do something the government doesn't want you to do, they make you explode. You explode, with puddles of blood everywhere, staining everything and your organs stretched out as far as the eye could see. I wasn't going to stand for this. I wanted him away from me.

_Don't give me medicine._

_It'll make me sick._

_You're the virus._

_You're the sickness._

_You're hired by the government to put me on a leash like a dog._

I wanted to bash him over the head with the board. I wanted him to be knocked out, and I could escape from here. Just run. Run to my heart's content. Never have to hear what these guys had to say that I was _sick. _

There was a lot of static in my head. I heard the same noise that I hear whenever I turned on a channel that had no signal. I could visualize the many black and white dots, millions of them, gathering in my head and then, suddenly, it was like I was changing the channel. I saw images of my future, being put away to jail, becoming a prisoner of the government. I would be all over the news if I did this to the doctor. _Public Enemy #1 Takes Down Doctor, Escapes and is Bound to Create Havoc in City_. Then there would be my mug shot, and the newspaper would have a phone number to alert authorities if they've ever seen me.

All because I killed someone before. I killed many people before. I was known to be some kind of Angel of Death, because I heard that every step I took, people died. And I took hundreds, thousands of steps. Hundreds and thousands of people have died, simply because I moved. I wanted to stay still, but people began to tell me that I couldn't spend my life laying still, not even wanting to blink, afraid that it was going to set off a bomb somewhere. They convinced me to move, but I'm still afraid of taking steps I don't need to take. Sometimes I count them.

No, I couldn't take this doctor down. It was too much of a risk. I had the chart in my hands, ready to smash it on his head, but I knew it would be too risky.

"Sonic? Is something the matter? Why did you take my chart away from me?"

Please, Doc. Don't take me away. Whatever you do, don't take me away. I have to take care of a kid, I saved a few lands before, remember all that? You probably don't because they're far away places, but please. Don't take me away.

I didn't want to cry in front of him. I wanted to somewhat, but I didn't want to show him that I was at his mercy.

"Take the medicine you're prescribed and see me again in a month. Then we'll decide if you need to go somewhere, okay?"


End file.
